


Unraveling

by kally77



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kally77/pseuds/kally77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 5. Spike unravels Angel's secret and pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unraveling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynnenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnenne/gifts).



Spike was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but it was a nice dream, so he let himself enjoy it. He was lying on the beach, and the sun wasn’t burning him to cinders. Instead, it felt rather pleasantly warm. The waves licked his feet every few seconds, cool and gentle. The scent of salt was heavy in the air, so heavy he could almost taste it.

He woke up when the sun and its warmth were abruptly taken from him, leaving only the scent of salt behind. He opened an eye to find himself in Angel’s shadow as he sat on the side of the bed.

Tentatively, Spike rested his hand on Angel’s shoulder, where the pricks from his fingernails had all but healed already. Angel flinched, but he didn’t shrug off the touch.

“You did the right thing,” Spike said quietly.

After a long moment, without looking back, Angel nodded. Spike’s hand tightened for an instant before releasing, but he didn’t let go.

*

“Want me to… call you—”

Spike’s question ended on a wordless cry when Angel pushed his legs back a little more and thrust harder yet.

“Call me anything other than Angel,” he grunted, “and I’ll call you Willy for the next month. And when they ask where that name comes from I’ll _tell_ them.”

The threat – or Angel’s renewed attack on his prostate – had Spike gritting his teeth.

“Does ‘bastard’ count?”

Angel let go of Spike’s left leg to grab his dick. “Shut up,” he said as he started stroking it to the same rhythm as his pounding hips.

Spike all but keened. His hands tightened on Angel’s shoulders until his fingernails were drawing blood. The smell had his nostrils flare. He was salivating, and almost bit his own tongue to get a taste of blood. Maybe if he played nice…

“Yes…” He swallowed back the word that was rising to his lips. “Angel.”

*

As soon as the elevator door closed, Spike crossed the lobby to Angel’s office. Angel turned away as he walked in, and went to stand by the windows. Sunlight bathed the room. It had been months, but Spike still wasn’t used to it. Every time he saw Angel standing there, he wanted to pull him out of the sun and into the shadows.

It was too late, though. Angel was already burning in a hell of his own making.

“Booze or blood?” Spike asked, though he was already opening the liquor cabinet.

Angel sighed. “Go away.”

“That’s not one of the options. Booze or blood? Or both?”

“Not now, Spike.”

“Yes, now.”

Spike grabbed the first bottle that presented itself, trusting that only more than decent labels were stacked away in the cabinet. He uncapped it as he walked over to Angel and took a healthy swig before handing it out. Angel’s hands remained curled inside his pants’ pockets, pulling at the expensive fabric. He didn’t even look at Spike or the bottle. His gaze remained focused on the window. He was looking downward, as though he could see all the way down to the street.

“Will he—”

“Not now,” Angel said again, closing his eyes tight.

Spike took another mouthful of alcohol before pushing at Angel’s shoulder. A quiet growl rose from Angel, and his eyes were glowing as they opened to glare down at Spike. Ignoring both warnings, Spike crashed his mouth on Angel’s.

*

When Angel entered the training room, a kid right on his heels, Spike didn’t think anything of it. He was too busy picking himself up off the floor to care much, actually. His little session with Illyria wasn’t going anywhere. Of course she kept cheating and altering the flow of time, so that wasn’t really his fault.

His nonchalance changed when Angel, in a forced casual voice, dropped the kid’s name.

“Connor, this is Spike and Illyria. Guys, this is Connor.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at the kid with wide eyes, then at Angel.

“Connor?” he repeated, lightly touching Angel’s shoulder.

Angel winced. A tiny nod had Spike’s gaze returning to the kid, evaluating, gauging. 

_Does he know?_ Spike wanted to ask, but Illyria had made her own assessment.

“This one is lusting after me.”

Spike smirked as the kid babbled denials and excuses. It might have been fun to have him around. He glanced at Angel, ready to ask if Connor was there to stay, but already Angel was answering the unvoiced question. 

“Connor has brought us a case. We're looking into it. I’m just showing him around.”

His eyes flickered to Spike, and in that brief instant Spike almost felt sorry for Angel. He wasn’t used to feeling sorry for him. He didn’t like it.

*

As Spike saw it, there was one good thing about being a bloody ghost: Angel couldn’t shove him out of his way or lock him out of his office. Short of leaving LA, there wasn’t much he could do to escape Spike, and driving him insane was as good a past time as any. Which was how Spike found himself standing in the middle of Angel’s desk, one bright morning, smirking at the look of pure frustration on Angel’s face.

“Just one little answer,” he reminded Angel. “And I’ll leave you alone for a full two hours.”

Angel grunted. He swiped his hand through Spike, gathering the papers that were strewn on the desk, and leaned back in his chair to read them. Unfazed, Spike stepped forward until he was practically standing on Angel’s lap.

“Can’t you go and haunt someone else for a change?” Angel muttered, exasperated.

That quiet protest was a clue, as was the fact that Angel wasn’t simply walking away. He _wanted_ to answer; he just didn’t want Spike to know he wanted it.

“Three hours,” Spike offered, though he didn’t mean it.

Angel sighed. At his small nod, Spike stepped back and focused, so that instead of passing right through the desk, he appeared to be perched on the edge.

“I had a son,” Angel said quietly.

Spike couldn’t help but snort. “When was the last time you called—” It was the ice in Angel’s eyes that showed him his mistake. He sobered up at once. “Right. You don’t mean me.”

Angel shook his head and continued just as quietly. “He was…” He seemed to struggle for the right word. “Broken. Wolfram & Hart offered to fix him. Give him a brand new life.”

“A life without you in it,” Spike guessed. He’d have noticed if a brooder in training had been running around. “So… you work here as payment?”

Angel’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand, though he didn’t appear to really see them. “You’ve got your answer. Now go.”

Spike didn’t move. He would have wanted to reach out to Angel, but he wasn’t sure he could focus enough for that, and even if he could, he doubted Angel would have accepted comfort from him. “Was it worth it?”

Long seconds passed before Angel met his eyes. “I’d have sold my soul a hundred times over for him.”

As he stood, Spike wrapped his arms around himself. He felt cold. Without a word, he walked over to the door, though he had to stop and ask one last question.

“What was his name?”

He expected Angel to ignore him, or shout. Instead, he was offered a pained murmur.

“Connor.”


End file.
